Opposing Realities
by Kentra02
Summary: The streets of a big city are a tough place to live, especially when you fall in love with the leader of your rival gang... 2x5
1. Satisfy

Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS, death, language, OOC-ness,   
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at begining of   
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...   
more will probably be added to the list...  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured   
it out yet?  
  
Notes: The first chapter of this seems very innocent and nice...   
just my little tool to lure you in before I dump the angst on you.   
Shit, was I supposed to give away the master plan _before_ you read   
this? ^_~ Oh and one more thing, the bad grammar usage in this, it   
was used on purpose. I'm not just stupid, some of these kids never   
had a chance to learn how to talk right, and don't really care, so   
don't be picky with 'em!   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Opposing Realities   
Part One: Satisfy  
  
"Excuse me," I murmur mock-genuinely as I avert my gaze from the overweight man's face. He smiles before turning away, not knowing that the brush against his side was more than accidental and that his wallet is now stuffed firmly in my own pocket. By the time he even notices, I'll be long gone and he won't give me a second thought. I'm not yet positive whether I like the idea of nobody remembering or recognizing me; we'll see if it plays to my advantage today, and from there I'll take it a step at a time.  
  
I don't feel sorry for the fool, not at all, not if it means a meal or two for me and some of the others who have no home but the streets. Maybe this will teach him to keep his wallet somewhere that hungry thieves can't reach it so easily. Leaving something of such value half out of your pocket in a crowded subway station is easy bait, whether he realized it was in my plain sight or not.  
  
What am I doing in a subway station anyways? Does it look like I have extra cash to be riding around all over the city? My pockets are healthily stashed with the 'earnings' from today's work, which include a few wallets, a hat, a couple dollars in spare change that I picked from the ground, and the overcoat that I'm wearing on top of it all. I leave the station and head towards the backstreets I call home as I shake free my long brown braid from where it is stuffed in my shirt. Makes it much easier to avoid recognition. I could cut it and make life a hell of a lot easier, but I doubt that I'll ever get rid of it. Call me sentimental, but it's the only real constant in my life. Well, besides cold and hunger, but I don't exactly have a choice on that, now do I? The braid I keep of my own will. Even if I did have a choice to remove those other two factors from my life, would I? I honestly can't answer that. I know by now that I could have a fuller tummy and a hell of a lot more clothing... but only if I was a greedy son of a bitch. My gang comes before me; they get first dibs on everything I collect, because they _don't_ have the same choice as me. Most of them don't have the strength and skills to live out here alone, but I can. I can steal without remorse, and without getting caught. I'm their provider and there is no way in _hell_ that I'll submit myself to trivial comforts when they need it more.  
  
A faint sobbing interrupts my thoughts as I make my way to the condemned home we're staying at for the time being. My trained ears automatically pinpoint the direction of the sound and I lengthen my strides upon realizing that they are the cries of a child. Obviously my ears are correct; the sobbing grows louder at each turn. When you live in constant fear as long as I have, it's hard not to have ears this good. Twisting through the alleys, the cries become more desperate. How did such a small child get this far back here?  
  
Finally I see her, a girl no older than eight years old curled up, and clutching part of a dented cardboard box as her dirty blonde hair shields her face. Her dingy, faded pink tank top is too small for her and her torn white pants hang inches above her ankles, revealing the length of time she's had to wear them. She's obviously like me, somebody who is used to the harsh street conditions. But the streets are much crueler when you're alone, and even more so to young girls.  
  
I start to approach her, vaguely wondering how close she will let me get. I'm a man, and probably eight or nine years older than her. I know she's been hurt by men on the streets just by looking at her. How could she not have been, if she's out here all alone? I edge nearer to her quietly, but she doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence yet.  
  
I kneel down next to her, not blocking the few escape routes she has, ensuring that she doesn't feel trapped.  
  
"You know, I heard you crying from a few streets away. That's a loud noise somebody as small as you can make," I whisper plainly, not looking at her. She looks up, wide-eyed and red-faced, her cheeks streaked with blood and dirt as well as with tears. She has the same street hungry eyes as I've seen so many times before, but just my looking at her I know she had a home once. I know how much she lost, how much she's fallen in her short life, and I still haven't even heard the sound of her voice.  
  
"I'm sorry," she squeaks, her choked back sobs evident in her voice. I smile warmly towards her.  
  
"I wasn't angry with you or anything, I was worried about you."  
  
I slide into a sitting position, leaning my head against the wall behind me, waiting for a response. I don't want to say anymore until she does, I don't want to pose a threat to her. She stands up, looking at me defiantly yet compassionately, obviously lost for words.  
  
"Where are you going?" I ask simply, making no move to stand when she turns away. If she thinks that I'll follow her, she's wrong. I'm not going to cause her panic. She shrugs off my question.  
  
"Wherever my feet take me."  
  
"Suit yourself," I say, letting her know I'm not trying to lure or seduce her, "but if you want to stay and talk for a little bit, that's okay with me."  
  
Her eyes widen for a split second, confirming my suspicions that she fears me. But something inside her clicks and is desperate to break free, I know it. She needs somebody. And obviously she's notice that I haven't even made a move to touch her, because she sits back down next to me.  
  
"What's your name? I'm Duo."  
  
"My name Dara," she whispers, distrust clearly evident at the somewhat intrusive question. She sounds so innocent to my scathed ears, but I know it's only her youth. "Why you git such long hair?"  
  
She looks at my braid, intrigued by its length as an awkward hand reaches to touch it. I wince slightly; I don't really like people touching my hair, but I want to gain her trust. I smile warmly,  
  
"I like it this way. It suits me, even though it _is_ getting a bit long, what do you think?"  
  
She grins, running her small fingers through the loops of it, "I think it pretty."  
  
"Thank you, Dara. Are you alone out here?" I question, wanting to get as much easy information out of her as I can, maybe be able to help her. She nods slightly, as if wondering whether I would disapprove.  
  
"I runned away when I's five, an' when they foun' me, they say my parents die in a fire. Then they put me in a orphanage an' I runned away from there too."  
  
"Well, sounds like you've been through a lot in your life, for one so young," I say sympathetically, though the story doesn't shock me in the least. The behind the scenes story may change my mind a little bit, if I'm fortunate enough to hear it. "So how old are you now?"  
  
"I's seven... maybe eight by now. Not exactly sure when's my birthday," she says, proud of the years that have accumulated beneath her and seem much longer to her than they do me.  
  
"Ah, you're like me then, I don't have a birthday either. But I made one up for myself, July 1st." To my surprise, she giggles.  
  
"You can't jus' invent a birthday!"   
  
I stare at her, amused, "Who's going to stop me? I can give you a birthday too, if you'd like."  
  
"Really? Can be in March sometime? My favorite month," she says, laughter still tingling her lips.  
  
"Hmm... alright, what's your favorite number?" I ask with a grin. I really love kids too much, they've given me a soft spot.  
  
"Ehhh... three," the replies timidly.  
  
"Three, huh? Tell you what, since I already have a friend whose birthday is March 3, how 'bout we make your special day March 30?"  
  
Her eyes widen in delight as if all she had ever wanted was a birthday of her own. She looks as if she would hug me, had she not experienced undeniable situations that cause her to avoid contact with me.  
  
"Thanks! I like you."  
  
"Well then, I'm honored I could win your respect. I've got to get back to the rest of my gang soon, though. If you'd like, you could join me," I offer. She stares, her excitement turning skeptical. "We won't even touch you, I promise. We can get you warmer clothes and some food though, and you only have to stay as long as you want."  
  
"Is it a bunch of guys like you?"  
  
"Guys and girls, of all ages. They're not all like me, but they are all good people, if you're on their side. I'm the oldest. Right now the youngest is an eight year old girl named Dacia," I say in hope of convincing her that she would have a friend waiting for her. I really don't want to leave her out here alone. She stares at me for a long while, inspecting me as if I am a criminal. Which I am, I hate to remind myself. But I hope to be trustworthy enough to pass the child's test.  
  
"Guess I coul' check it out," she says, a daring smile shadowing her lips.  
  
"That's the spirit, kiddo," I laugh as I stand up and head back to our temporary shelter.  
  
+D+  
  
Kentra is eyeing me suspiciously at the request to get Dara cleaned up. I'll talk to her about it later, after I finish taking care of the rest of them. I last let them eat about two and a half days ago. Today and yesterday I collected enough money to feed most of us.  
  
"Where's Heero?" I call to Trowa who is smoking in the corner.   
  
"You know where he is," is the other boy's slick reply, "off 'making money'."  
  
"Well then you're gonna have to replace him for a little bit, now won't you?" I ask, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Depends, what the hell are you gonna put me through _this_ time?" he shoots back as a grin shines in his emerald eyes.  
  
"Dinner."  
  
That's really all I need to say, because in seconds he's got a sweatshirt pulled over his head and is heading towards the door. Sometimes I think Trowa is hungrier than the rest of us, he always seems to need more food, but he never gains a pound. I think it's the drugs that do it to him. It seems impossible to pull him off them though, believe me, I've tried.  
  
The walk to the fast food place is short. What kind of city doesn't have a burger joint on the corner of every street anymore? This is a big city, there's a lot of places to get this greasy crap that we live off of. But I'm headed to this one in particular because I know that today is $.50 cheeseburger day, and with just today's cash, I can afford two meals for everybody. They'll eat well today, I hope that will give their grim faces a reason to smile for just a little bit.  
  
I smile with satisfaction as we head back to the house, the smell of long awaited food drifting towards us and the lingering memory of the startled expression in the cashier's voice when we spoke our desired quantity of food. There was even enough food for myself and the other few of us that sacrifice their own meals for the others. I haven't eaten now for almost two weeks, along with Heero, Solo, and Kentra. I worry about them, they seem too thin. Though they never had too much extra weight in the first place, even when I first found them.  
  
Two of the younger kids run to me expectantly as the smell of foods drifts through the house. I pat them on the head and they laugh a little, following me to the kitchen where I deposit the precious cargo on the crumbling counter.  
  
Hungry faces fill the kitchen, and for a minute I feel as if I'm running an orphanage or homeless shelter, rather than leading a tough gang. Though they are tough, I can't deny that. They are some of the toughest kids I know, but I hate to think of what will happen to them, especially the younger ones, if they keep living like this. It's been too hard to feed us all lately, too hard to keep fighting and keep strong when we're this run down. 


	2. Threaten

Author: Kentra Shinataku  
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3  
Category: Angst, Romance  
Rating: R, for future chapters.   
Spoilers: None  
Warning: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS(possible), death, language, OOC-ness,   
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at begining of   
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,..   
more will probably be added to the list..  
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured   
it out yet?  
Notes: Still seems way too innocent for what I've got planned... I should do something about that. Wufei's point of view doesn't come in during this chapter either, but chapter 3 will start out as his, so never fear!^_~ Oh and one more thing, the bad grammar usage in this, it was used on purpose. I'm not just stupid, some of these kids never had a chance to learn how to talk right, and don't really care, so don't be picky with 'em!   
**********  
  
Opposing Realities  
Part Two: Threaten  
  
I look down at the two small girls that are splayed, sleeping in my lap, both with full stomachs for the first time in a while. Dara refuses to speak to anybody but me, and will not leave my side. Not that I'm complaining; I'm glad she trusted me enough to blindly follow me here. I wouldn't have been that trusting. Dacia is the other child, snoozing in a happy daze, clutching onto the cloth covering my legs. She's desperate to make Dara her friend, but I think Dara is still too nervous and too alone. Dacia was thrilled when I introduced them earlier; she and Kentra are the only two girls here, and Kentra seems too masculine to worry about femininity.   
  
Most of the younger kids are asleep. Bryce, Davi, Solo, and Daameon are little more than a tangled mass of bodies curled against the wall. They look angelic when they sleep. Hell, they look baby-faced and angelic even while awake, but piss them off and they can really fight. They worry me sometimes though; they aren't as strong as they think. Good thing they have each other.   
  
I look to my left when the steady scratching of Kentra drawing on the wooden floor with a piece of charcoal abruptly ceases. She's looking evenly at Trowa who is standing next to her, pulling on an extra sweatshirt. A lot seems to be said between their silence as their gaze studies each other's figures. Those two amaze me; they connect so well, probably because Trowa was the one who found her and took a liking to her. She had adopted him as a brother almost immediately, though soon after she also took to me. Now she calls herself Kentra Maxwell-Barton. Only later I realized what having a brother meant to her.   
  
Trowa nods to her, and she seems to understand, despite the fact that no words had bent his lips. I stare skeptically at him; that boy is so damn hard to read. He walks out the front door without a word to me as Kentra sighs. I raise an eyebrow,   
"Where's he going?"   
  
"To find Heero," she replies nonchalantly and shrugs it off as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which it almost is. Trowa's always after Heero when it gets late. It must be around 2:30 now, though Heero pulls all nighters a lot. He usually has to, with what he does, but every night that he doesn't come home, I notice how Trowa smokes one more joint than usual. I'm glad I don't have to love somebody, especially when that person is always out and around the city.   
  
No more than ten minutes have passed as the door flies open and reveals an outraged Heero with Trowa's arms locked around his elbows to restrain him. There's blood on Heero's shirt, and I have a feeling it isn't his own. I pity the people who go against Heero. I can only say that because I've been on the other side of his fists, and honestly, he scares the shit out of me. I know he's not using all his strength to get free now, because Trowa is nowhere near as strong as he is. He has a cut down the side of his cheek and the blood dripping from it mixes with the rain dripping from his hair. That look is in his eyes again, I know that look well.   
  
"Dare I ask?" I comment with a smirk, knowing whatever the case it was far from humorous. But that's just how I deal with things, they know that.   
  
"The motherfucker wouldn't pay me," Heero growls, anything but calmly, "he wouldn't give me the fuckin' cash, dammit!"   
  
"What the hell did you do to him?" I ask, keeping my own calm as I pick up the two children in my lap and gently lay them on the floor beside me. Heero was silent.   
  
"He wasn't dead, but Heero fucked him up pretty bad," comes Trowa's bitter reply, and in an undertone he adds, "in more than one way..."   
  
"Stop being such a jealous asshole," Heero says, glaring, "you know I gotta do this shit for the cash."   
  
Obviously they've argued about Heero's little 'side jobs' before, because Trowa shuts up. He also knows that he's lucky that Heero's out of the prostitution ring that he had been part of. Now it's only part time. Trowa would go mad if he had to deal with that.   
  
"Who was this guy?" I ask to lift the tension from the air.   
  
"A young guy, I don't think he actually had any damn cash. He looked like a street kid, said his name was Jul," Heero says bitterly.   
  
"Don't you have the sense not to fuck a street kid?" Trowa spits out.   
  
"You're a fuckin' street kid! See next time I fuck you!"   
  
"Shut up," I hiss firmly, not raising my voice over them, "Let the kids sleep."   
  
They stare at me blankly, probably wondering why I care. It's not like we usually get a full night's sleep, but if we can, I want to let them.   
  
"There's some food left from dinner for you, Heero," I continue, "have what you'd like, everybody else has had their fill." In all honesty, there probably is only just enough left for him after the younger ones are done, but I don't want him to feel guilty eating the last of it. Trowa flashes a dark glance in my direction before disappearing to the top of the stairs where he has been sleeping. He has this privacy thing, and even though there's no separate bedroom for him, he gets as far away from anybody as possible. Except Heero. He can interrupt Trowa's solitude whenever he likes. However, I think Heero will be sleeping downstairs tonight.   
  
I resume my seat, leaning against the wall, and pull Dara and Dacia onto my lap so that they won't wake up alone, especially Dara. She won't be used to waking up with these strangers all around her, but I'd rather her be a bit nervous around us then think that we left her alone after promising her somewhere to stay.   
  
I feel the heat of another body pressing against me, and I look to my left to see Kentra's head resting on the shoulder. There's something about her that intrigues me each time I study her, as I am now. Most of the kids I've met out here have an innocent look about them, at least when they sleep. Some have that look _only_ when they sleep, like Trowa and Heero, you meet them during their waking hours and can be killed by the flames in their eyes. But Kentra looks scathed, even while asleep. Or maybe I just know too much about her to see her in a light of purity. I close my eyes and try to sleep; it's best to rest while I can.   
  
+D   
  
I nudge the tangled bodies in the corner, and slowly, the boys' bodies come to life. Solo's eyes open first and he looks up at me, squinting to avoid the sunlight that is creeping in the glass-free window. " 's goin' on?" Solo mutters thickly, his natural internal clock alerting him that it's earlier than I usually wake him. I grin, in spite of myself. The way he stands out from his three dark haired companions with his own glowing orange strands always brings a smile to my face.   
  
"Where we goin'?" Bryce asks, freeing his leg from beneath Davi's head.   
  
"Today we're going shopping," I announce with a smile, not just to those four, but to everybody. Daameon, Davi, Bryce, and Solo's faces light up in a grin similar to my own. Kentra perks up with that little spark of exhilaration she gets and Trowa raises an eyebrow.   
  
"Shoppin'?" echoes an incredulous small voice behind me. Dara doesn't understand yet that our definition of the word is much different than most people's, but today she'll learn. I can guarantee that she's already done a bit of 'shopping' in her own lifetime, and that it won't be long before she joins in on Solo's devious crusades.   
  
"Yes Dara, shopping. The kind you do when you're as broke as us," I offer as an explanation. I bury a hand in her dirty blonde hair and give it a good ruffle, rewarding me with a little giggle. Part of me wishes that I didn't have to teach young children the delicate art of theft, but that very tiny part of me is smoldered instantly because I know that there's no other way to survive. Besides, stealing is one of those things I'm good at, and whatever skills I can teach my friends to help them out, I will. Just because something from a very distant memory makes me feel guilty about thievery, doesn't mean I'll deny these guys a necessity of life. I pity the kids that I hear about killing themselves because they think they have no way to survive. If living on the streets does one good thing, it's the damn strict attachment to life we keep, willing us to keep going no matter what. I'll make sure these guys can keep going and always keep their will to fight.   
  
+D   
  
Heero, Daameon, and I leave the Shop10 store, the pockets of our pants considerably heavier. I tell ya, those security scanners they strategically place around doors work _real_ well. We meet the rest of the gang around the back of the store and load the new cargo into the cloth bags that we use for moving. We hop the tall, wooden fence, helping the youngest kids over the pointed peaks on the beams, and end up in a familiar alleyway. Familiar because we're nearing the condemned house, and this is our usual route back. But we're far from going back already. Some men were talking in the front lawn today and it appears that the demolition of our current residence has been delayed a while longer, which puts me in a great mood because I haven't found any other shelter yet. Rain is not pleasant to sleep under, and in the Spring, at least in this city, it rains nearly every night. Since we're going to be staying here longer, I figure we can get some extra stock at the house. I send the four boys who are connected at the hip- Daameon, Solo, Bryce, and Davi- back with what we've got so far to drop off the load and tell them to meet us outside of Burger Bar for something to eat, second day in a row. Dacia volunteers to go with them, and I smile as I accept her request. She always does whatever she can to let the boys know she's an equal. They just won't admit it.   
  
"We're heading to O'Reila's for our last shop stop," I announce to the remaining four. Heero nods, falling in stride at the rear of our little group; looks like he and Trowa haven't yet made up. Kentra and Trowa are walking side by side, with an attached Dara hovering around Kentra's legs. She's at least decided that a few of us aren't so bad. O'Reila's is only a couple blocks from here, so taking our time, we head towards the road. It's not a road traveled by many, but it's an actual road and not a backstreet. It serves as a reminder that we're actually human and not the vermin we seem like.   
  
"There!" a loud cry wrenches me out of my thoughts and I whip my head around just in time to see a dark haired boy of Indian descent topple Heero to the ground and wrap his hands around his neck. He's got Heero completely defenseless with his heels digging into his wrists and I snatch a knife from my boot before seeing Trowa is a step ahead of me. There seems to be no transition in his movements as he goes from standing calmly to wrenching the boy's hands off of his lover and pressing a blade to his neck. At least five or six more teenagers appear from where this boy had jumped out from, and as my eyes are drawn to the one that must be the leader, I see the most beautiful boy that I've seen in my life.   
**********  
  
A/n: This chapter is a demonstration of my muses current anger with me... therefore, it's not so good. Heh.. I'll just have to bargain with them for the next chapter, and then I can get back on track and take this story to the depths that I want to. Lemme know what you think, postive or negative comments welcome! 


	3. Encounter

Author: Kentra Shinataku  
  
Title: Opposing Realities  
  
Anime: Gundam Wing  
  
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3  
  
Category: Angst, Romance, AU  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Warning: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS, death, language, OOC-ness,   
  
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at beginning of   
  
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...   
  
more will probably be added to the list...  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured   
  
it out yet?  
  
**********  
  
Opposing Realities  
  
Part Three: Encounter  
  
+W  
  
My eyes unite with a violet flare found upon the thin face of another boy. The blade of his knife stands rigid, knowing that I'm not a friend, but beneath the surface of his skin, I can feel a vulnerability radiating from him. Time seems to have fallen immobile, and before I glance over to see Quatre being thrust into a brick wall by a girl who is about a year younger than him, I realize that there is a similarity in our eyes. I stare back at him, and he makes no sign of motion.  
  
"Call off your thugs," I mutter in what I _know_ is a dangerous voice.  
  
"You first," he returns without a second's hesitation, a wicked grin playing on his lips.  
  
"Jul, get off Heero. The rest of you, just stop."  
  
The odd, braided boy nods, knowing that this is fruitless, and although I haven't had a good fight in days, now isn't the time.  
  
"Trowa, let Jul up an' he'll let Heero go." Trowa, once again. I thought I saw enough of him last night.  
  
Trowa's face is set in a face of death; I can nearly smell his will to snap his knife into Jul's throat, and that scares me. But I won't let this kid hurt Jul, as long as Jul doesn't hurt him. Trowa reluctantly stands, glaring at Jul as if fire can leap from his gaze, refusing to sheathe his knife. Jul stands also, and I wonder if I'm going to have to interfere, because he and Trowa look like they're ready to tear each other's throats open, which concerns me because I know that Jul would. I don't know Trowa's nature, but he looks pretty damn serious, too.   
  
"Jul, what the hell is going on?" I snap, not completely clueless, but I still have yet to hear the entire story, and see if any more of the guys from the other gang are going to be listed in the cast of characters. By now, the blonde girl has stopped messing with Quatre, he's rubbing the back of his head where the brick punctured it and is obviously bleeding, and we stand awkwardly, grounded by the tension of an expected attack.  
  
"This is the bitch that gave me these cuts," Jul retorts, gesturing wildly, letting his thin, snake-like braid flap over his shoulder, "Heero, the fuckin' whore!"  
  
Ah, so I finally get to meet the boy who left blood on the skin of my tough guy.  
  
"I wouldn't have had to paint you in your own damn blood if you weren't such a lying son of a bitch, now would I?" Heero shoots back, a ghost of a smirk glinting just beneath the mask of his lips.  
  
"I didn't promise you jack shit!" Jul hollers, rocking forward on the toes of his shoes.  
  
"The hell you didn't! You told me you'd give me fuckin' cash after I fucked you an' you fuckin' lied! I had a fuckin' reason to scrap you up, kid!" He lunges at Jul, throwing all of his weight forward, but the boy with the chestnut braid latches his hand to the neck of Heero's grungy t-shirt, withholding him from harming Jul any further. I heard Heero beating him the other night; he outweighs and out-muscles him, and it killed me to have to listen to it. But my gang fights their own battles, personal fights have to be taken into their own hands. That's the only way they'll learn to be strong.  
  
"Listen, China-boy, you keep your boys from mine and I'll keep mine from you," the braided obvious 'leader' comments almost jovially with a glitter of a smile in his eye, still holding back a scowling Heero.  
  
"My name is Wufei Chang, and I'd be more than pleased to never see you again."  
  
He nods and I see something of surprise just behind the shine in his eyes.  
  
"Right then, Chang. I'm called Duo, but I don't think you need to know that 'cause we won't be meeting again," he pauses thoughtfully, a spark of something coming to life within him, "now will we?"  
  
+W  
  
The familiar aroma of sawdust comforts me as I settle on the legless couch that is placed haphazardly in the middle of the warehouse. We've been hiding here so long, I can't imagine what I would do if we ever had to leave. But tonight there are things on my mind other than my home. I want to think about this death-driven boy that ambled into my life today, and I want Diego to stop cussing out Dark in his native Spanish so I can have some peace of mind. But obviously waiting it out doesn't seem to help.  
  
"Diego, shut the fuck up or go in the other room."  
  
I ignore his grimace as he drags Dark in and slams the door. This quiet is much better. What is it about this boy who calls himself Duo that won't let my mind rest? And why do I care? Aren't I supposed to be avoiding him?   
  
Do I want to see him again?  
  
Two sharp raps echo from the door, interrupting once again the pointless questions in my mind. I watch intently as Quatre peers beneath the crack of the door, checking the number of feet waiting outside. I trust him, and he seems to decide it's safe to reveal our hideout.  
  
"Name," he queries sternly. I hear a muffled response that I can't decipher from here. "Who else?"   
  
I hear the second voice as clearly as if it were spoken directly in my ear.  
  
"Some call me Duo."  
  
Quatre looks to me, awaiting my judgment, and at the same time giving me the familiar feeling he can read my thoughts. I wave a dismissive hand, not quite certain myself whether I welcome him or loathe him, so I hope Quatre can translate my gesture into his own hands.  
  
"Who do you want to see?" Obviously he's uncertain about the situation as well.  
  
"Jul," a soft voice that sounds a bit like Trowa answers, then Duo adds, "Chang."  
  
"Let them in," I call, the sound of my voice echoing off the high ceiling. Quatre squints at me, not wanting to argue, but knowing as I do that this probably is not a good idea. I nod, however, offering final reassurance to grant their entrance, and he slowly opens the door, standing tall to two very attractive, very dangerous boys. I struggle to remember that these are my enemies.  
  
Duo steps in first, sporting a somehow new looking black muscle shirt, and the same loose black pants he wore earlier. My eyes don't ignore the visibly toned chest beneath the fabric, nor the knife strapped to his arm. He's probably concealing more weaponry in those black boots. He stares at Quatre with an expression that is foreign to me, before making way for Trowa to enter. His ragged black trench coat hangs loose, not bothering to cloak the switchblade in the pocket of his fitting blue jeans, and his emerald eyes automatically flicker, scoping out everything, leaving me feeling incredibly vulnerable.  
  
Duo takes no time in making himself at home, and heads towards me as soon as his eyes target me. The closer he gets, the less his eyes mask. He doesn't want to be here, no matter how his smile is trying to pronounce otherwise. I have to wonder though, who is he trying to convince; me or himself? I know very well that there is something he needs to take care of, and it isn't something that involves this place. Perhaps I can use that against him, if need be. But do I really want to?  
  
He stops precisely in front me, rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms.  
  
"There's something wrong with this picture, Chang," he comments, his cool tone separated from his warm expression, "With your doorman, I mean. Shouldn't you be reversed in role? I can smell his money a mile away."  
  
So he wants to play that way? At least he's perceptive; Quatre _does_ come from money. But not anymore.  
  
"He left that life for us, he's not just some rich jerk," I return softly, the tone my voice chooses not quite the one I intended for it to take. I offer a quick glance to Quatre, seeing the hurt hanging over him. He gave up so much for us; his father has given up looking for him by now.  
  
Duo's eyes soften a bit, not fully understanding, but a slight rue of his words. Though I know he meant those words to bite.  
  
"Trowa wants to see Jul," he says instead.  
  
"Don't know where he is," I reply instantly, though I know he's in the other room with Dark and Diego.  
  
"You do, or you wouldn't have let us in."  
  
I stare at him what I hope is icily. I don't like the way he can read me, the way he sees me so well. It's dangerous for your enemies to understand you. But it's also dangerous to knowingly invite them into your home, so that's another rule broken.   
  
My eyes are stung with his, forcing time of unknowing to hinge around us, between us. Drawing us together. I'd rather it push us apart.  
  
"Jul!" I yell, breaking us out of the seeming trance that had bound us only seconds before. The sound reverberates from the high walls, echoing through to the room where I know he can hear me. Lo and behold, he does, and he peers from the doorway, seeing our 'guests'. Before giving me a chance to speak to him, Trowa grits out,   
  
"We have some business to attend to." 


	4. Hidden

Title: Opposing Realities  
  
Author: Kentra Shinataku  
  
Anime: Gundam Wing  
  
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3  
  
Category: Angst, Romance, AU  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Archive: http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net. If you want, ask and ye shall receive.   
  
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language, some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own stories.  
  
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.  
  
**********  
  
Opposing Realities  
  
Part Four: Hidden  
  
+D  
  
"Like hell we do," Jul growls, looking Trowa up and down. I put a hand on Trowa's arm to restrain him as Jul disappears behind the door once again.  
  
"He'll be back," Wufei says idly, his eyes fixed on me. I wonder if he's afraid of me or if he's enjoying the show that my freshly stolen shirt gives. Probably the latter, though the former would give the surge of confidence that I need to handle this situation. I hope we can get out of here quickly, for many reasons. Number one, it's not exactly smart to wander blindly into enemy territory. Heero's the only one who's actually been inside this place and look who's conveniently missing from this scene. I don't even know where my emergency escape doors are.  
  
I also don't like leaving Dara at the house without me so soon. She'll only talk to Kentra and Dacia, so thank God they're there, but Dara was already wary of staying with us. What's she going to think if I come home with blood on me? I can make a definite bet she'll run away without a thought, back to the alleys where men get a free thrill from her.  
  
Jul saunters confidently from the doorway that Wufei claimed he would. Alright, one point for Chang.  
  
"Hope you're ready for me, Trowa. I'm more than ready for you," he announces, emphasizing the knife straps on his legs. Another point for Chang, he keeps his kids armed, even though Jul struts as if he's got a new toy. That alone tells me that he's never fought this way before. Not alone. Easy job for Trowa. He may look thin enough to crumble in half, but Trowa is a graceful, beautiful fighter. I'm going to assume that Jul doesn't carry that same deception, though; he looks pretty weak himself. I just want this to be over. I don't like the idea of Trowa fighting without any possibility of help.  
  
"Believe me, kid, I'm ready for you any day," Trowa laughs, crossing his arms as if to cover the blade assortment that at least _I'm_ fully aware of. He won't be hiding his impressive weaponry for long, though. Sorry, Jul.  
  
Wufei looks a little too apprehensive and I have a feeling he's come to the same decision on who's going to win. That's not going to change his mind though. I can't believe he's going to throw an inexperienced fighter in against Tro without a second thought.  
  
"Enough of that, you two can intimidate each other outside. If you're going to fight, get going."  
  
I knew this was a bad idea.  
  
"How do I know there ain't more of you waiting back there?" I ask, skeptically.  
  
"Duo, stay out of this. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself." Trowa's smile is sarcastic and self-assured, but I can plainly hear the tinge of resentment that I made such a demeaning comment.  
  
"Right, sorry man," I say with an equally casual smile, but I hope he takes it as more than that.  
  
"Besides," Trowa continues slyly, as if he hadn't heard me, "Jul knows this is business between the two of us, right Jul?" Jul shrugs indifferently and struts through the back door. I throw Trowa a reassuring glance as he follows close behind. It shouldn't sting this much to watch him go.  
  
I sit down carefully in front of Wufei's legless couch, feeling as if I'm being judged. He stares at me in silence for a moment, his gracefully slanted eyes bathing me.  
  
"You know, I don't know why you complained about Quatre," he says after his assessment is finished, "You had a home once, too." Damn, guess he's as good at reading people as I am.  
  
"Yeah, that may be true, but I sure as hell wasn't rich like that. I didn't even have parents," I throw back defensively. I hope that's enough information for you, Mr. Inquisitive.  
  
"I had parents. Well, they were divorced so I was really only around my dad much. But there was someone there, at least." Lovely, do you fancy a bit of a chat about your past? Would you like a cup of tea while you're at it? I'm sure your doorman will be more than happy to comply.  
  
"Lucky you," I say flatly, "I'm supposing the pressure got too much and you ran away to be a tough street boy, yeah?" I suppose I can humor you for a bit. I won't have to listen to the raised voices outside the cracked windows.  
  
"No, I ran away because I hated getting beat," he commented with a touch of ice cooling his words, "Why'd you?"  
  
"I don't run from anything," I remark sharply as I hear the distinct sound of a knife singing from its sheath. I hope its Trowa's. There's also a rough grating of flesh against brick. Why the hell did I let Tro talk me into this?  
  
"Oh, is that so?" Wufei brings me back to the conversation with a smirk. I wonder how he doesn't care that that could be Jul hurt out there. Maybe he's overconfident in Jul's strength. "So if you had a home but didn't run from it, how'd you end up a street thief?"  
  
I am not a thief; I steal to keep alive. But I don't expect him to understand that.   
  
"Not that it's any of your damn business, but I used to live in the Maxwell Orphanage." He looks surprised and I don't know whether it's out of respect or ignorance; I'll guess it's the latter. "You may have heard of the place, burned to the ground. I heard it was on the news for days. The cleanup sure took long enough -- Why are you staring at me like that?" His gaping is starting to get pretty damn annoying.  
  
"Yeah, I've... I've heard of the place."  
  
+W  
  
It must be the fact that I have to endure the cries and scrapes outside that's making me answer so slowly. I can't believe I'm talking to a survivor of the Maxwell Orphanage.  
  
"What, you knew someone there?" he asks, clearly puzzled by my response. I'm not about to tell him the truth, though. I'm not planning on dying tonight.  
  
"No, it's just... I'm amazed you survived, you know? I saw the place burning. It was only a block from my apartment."  
  
"Yeah, you and half the rest a' the city. You were probably starin' in awe like everyone else." He's bitter now. There is only one way to get out of this, lie like my life is worth it.  
  
Perfect.  
  
"No, I didn't find a burning building amazing. At least, not the screams comin' from inside." Well, that wasn't quite a lie.   
  
A loud yell of "Mother fucker!!" from Jul interrupts my thoughts, but I try to ignore it. I need to worm my way out of this shitty situation.  
  
"Well, that's good to know," he says, trying his best to act casual, though I can tell he's actually afraid. He's leaning back on his elbows, his shoulders back loosely, causing his well-defined chest to protrude in a seductive manner. His legs are still in the Indian-style position he folded into when he seated himself, and now his posture is causing them to spread wider than before. It's difficult for a moment to remember that I don't like him.  
  
"How many survivors were there?" I ask cautiously, vocalizing concern for the tragedy out loud for the first time.  
  
"Just two," he says, and I know his voice is trying to keep itself emotionless. His face is doing a pretty good job of it, too. I wonder how long he can stand these questions, things about his past that he'd rather not talk about, but it's taking his mind off the scuffle outside. Maybe that's why I'm doing this, to ease him a little. I'll ease pain with pain.  
  
"Out of how many?"  
  
He seems to consider the question for a minute or two. I don't blame him, it's been a long time since he lived at that place. If he's my age, he hasn't seen it since he was about 8 years old. Numbers seem much bigger when you're small.  
  
"There were prob'ly about two hundred in all," he says finally, "about 160 kids and 40 staff. Maybe less, but that's what it seemed like."  
  
I'm running out of questions, but I'm going to risk pushing the limit even though I know he's getting irritated. I can't let the topic switch back to me.  
  
There's a sickening crack outside. I hope its Trowa's skull. I don't want to think about that, though. It already sickens me that we resort to this shit. But we're street kids, we got no choice, right?  
  
I need to ask something else, his patient eyes have been idly caressing me for too long. Is he admiring me as much as I am him?  
  
"You said there's two survivors?" I ask slowly, "Who's the other, Trowa? You two seem close." I'll feel like shit if he says yes and Jul ends up killing him. Duo looks a bit relieved that I mentioned someone else's name; I know how he feels right now.  
  
"Nah, not Trowa," he lowers his voice as if Trowa might be listening. You know, I think Trowa has more important things to be worried about right now. "It was Heero. Actually, it was his fault that I lived. He's the only real survivor, I guess."  
  
Heero saved him? I wonder why Trowa is his lover and not Duo, then. It seems that the guy I took as emotionless and bastardly got something nice going on inside. Maybe he only let's the closest people see.  
  
"I couldn't see Heero in an orphanage." My tone is conversational like I'm sipping fuckin' margaritas on the boardwalk. "How'd he save you?" I doubt he's going to let me question him much longer, but when I ask this, a sort of reminiscent look comes over him, like he actually wants to answer.  
  
"He actually came in my window and pulled me out. See, he was already there throwin' stones at the glass trying to get me to come out with him for some night fun... and he didn't have to worry about wakin' people up 'cause I never slept in the bunkroom I was supposed to. But yeah, he was outside and crawled in to help get me out like a fuckin' knight in shining armor. Good thing I hated my own bunkroom; I'd be dead now if I was there."  
  
I won't find out why he never slept in his bunkroom, though, because a terrored, masculine scream sounds in the back, sending us both running to the back door. I'm almost grateful for it, in a detached way; I got through without Duo finding out that I was the one who lit the gas lines, that I caused the tragic incident of the Maxwell Orphanage.  
  
********** 


	5. Wounded

Title: Opposing Realities  
  
Author: Kentra Shinataku  
  
Anime: Gundam Wing  
  
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3  
  
Category: Angst, Romance, AU  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Archive: http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net. If you want, ask and ye   
  
shall receive.   
  
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language,   
  
some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and   
  
a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the   
  
original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used   
  
them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own   
  
stories.  
  
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.  
  
**********  
  
Opposing Realities: Part Five  
  
+D  
  
I can only hope it was Jul who screamed as we bolt to the back door. If it is, he'll be my savior; his damn leader's questions were getting far too personal. My mind is so preoccupied that by time we actually reach the door, Chang throwing it open in front of me, I'm not prepared for the scene that awaits me. I'm so horrified and disgusted by what lies before me that I almost turn my head away, pretend I didn't see. But how could I forget the picture of Trowa leaning against a brick wall, clutching his side with a blood soaked hand? Somehow, I manage to notice that Jul is holding a sharpened screwdriver, looking dazed and sick. I don't have time to think about what an amateur kid he is. My knife sings from it's harness immediately, and faster than he could dodge, I have Jul against the wall, my blade to his throat. I'm sure that I look panic stricken, but his expression must be even more terrified than mine as I begin to sink the blade into his flesh.  
  
Suddenly, two hands grip me by the shoulders and send me flying back. I definitely miscalculated Chang's strength.  
  
"Take him and go!" he yells, nodding towards Trowa, who is now on his knees, bleeding heavy bouts of thick crimson.  
  
"What?!" I shout back in shock. He has us so vulnerable, he could off Trowa and start on me so easily. We're way outnumbered, he has his whole gang just inside that door.  
  
"Just go!" he repeats, restraining Jul, who, getting over his shock, seems to be thinking along the same lines as me. Vulnerability. I'm not going to second guess Chang, though. If he wants to let fresh meat walk away free, avoiding the street power it would gain him, then I'm all for it. Let him be a fool, I'm getting Tro the hell out of here.  
  
I heft Trowa into my arms, cradling him, and stumble a bit, off-balance, and make as fast as I can from the alley. I can feel Chang's eyes on my back until I turn the corner, and I can't help feeling that something else needs to be said.  
  
I can't move with my natural grace while carrying Trowa, making the journey far slower than I'd like. I'm trying to hold pressure on the stab wound, which must be deep because the bleeding hasn't slowed. I have got to keep Trowa alive.   
  
I wish there was some way to walk abroad, but it's too dangerous, there are too many risks involved. Though, it would be quicker than dodging through he darkness of the alleys, no matter how well I know them. I have to wonder which is a bigger risk, being caught and taken into foster care or worse, or risking Trowa's life. If I traveled the main streets, we would risk being seen by anybody, we could be followed back by some other gang seeing one of us weak. I also don't think it's a great idea to leave a trail of blood along a mainstream sidewalk. No, we better stay in the shadows, the darkness where it's safe for us filthy street brats to exist.  
  
But it's so slow, bleeding through the darkness, he seems to die a little more around every turn, through every minute. I hope I'm overreacting. I don't remember being this afraid since the fire at the orphanage.  
  
We finally reach the house and I stop in the doorway after throwing it open, breathless and relieved we even made it this far. Everybody looks up from what they're doing, staring at the form I'm carrying in my arms.  
  
"Is he…?" Davi whimpers. I merely shake my head, feeling Trowa's life pulse against me. He stirs, as if to prove it. Stepping inside, away from the prying eyes of night, I hear a muffled thud from the second story, and Heero jumps over the banister, landing in a crouched, catlike position on the rickety wooden floor. I'm surprised none of the boards broke. He stands and inches toward me, one of those moments when time seems to slow down, and he takes his lover from my arms. I nod towards the stairs, anxious to escape the eyes pawing the blood covering my clothing. Funny to think that these are the people I would trust with my life, but I'm ashamed for them to see me this way. I hear a stifled sob and look to see Dara and Dacia clinging to each other, Dara crying into her new friend's shoulder. She shouldn't have to see this. None of them should.  
  
Heero follows my silent command and carries Trowa to the second floor, lying him on a shitty, breaking wood bench. I want to say it won't hold him long, I want to say we're going to save him. There are so many things I _want_ to say that I just can't say anything, my tongue seems to have dried, lying thick in my mouth.   
  
Instead of talking, I slip off my already bloodstained muscle shirt and work up the cloth covering his torso to reveal his wound. I'm surprised he's alive. Jul stuck the screwdriver into Trowa's lower right side, and from looking at it, there's no way I can tell how deep the metal got through. I look at Tro's face, which is mangled in pain, then to his hand, tightly intertwined with Heero's.  
  
"Tro, this is gonna hurt…"  
  
He nods, closing his eyes and grasping his lover's hand tighter. My smallest finger enters his wound, but I withdraw it as quickly as I plunged in. Surprisingly, it's not so deep. Trowa must have done a good job of dodging it. If it wasn't for his damn drugs, I bet he could have avoided it, no problem.  
  
Without anymore delay, I press my shirt against his pierced side, holding the material firm against his skin. I should have done this sooner, I'm terrified that he's going to bleed to death.  
  
"Solo!" I call in what has to be a horribly shaky voice. The little redhead scrambles up the steps in a flash, and something tells me that everybody is crowded around the foot of the stairs. "Solo, gather up spare clothes that we don't need right now, fish out the masking tape in the kitchen drawer and bring 'em up _now_," I instruct hastily. He nods, having a hard time tearing his eyes from Trowa. With a start, he tears down the staircase, and for a moment, I'm afraid he's either going to fall or imitate Heero's earlier stunt.  
  
I turn back to where my attention needs to be, and shift my shirt so that it can soak up more of the red shit I don't want to believe is blood.  
  
"Cigarettes," Trowa mumbles, catching my eye. Just what he _would_ think of at a time like this, but who am I to deny him something right now? Heero looks at me expectantly, and I release one hand from my grip on Trowa's side to fish a carton and lighter from my back pocket. Icy fingers latch around the wrist that was still holding pressure on his wound.  
  
"No.. no, mine. Left pocket," Trowa gasps. I allow Heero the honor of digging in his lover's pocket, as I don't want to fuck up their love life anymore than I already have, and he retracts a plastic bag with some rather suspicious looking smokes. I'm not going to ask, though. He's going to get whatever he wants right now, so I light one with my free hand and Heero slides it between his lover's lips. I'm feeling the urge to comment that if it wasn't for his drugs, he might not be in this position. Luckily, Solo chooses this moment to dash up the steps, his arms stuffed with ragged clothing, and a tape roll looped around his finger. I know these clothes come from his bedding. I'm sorry, Solo, but Trowa's life is more important right now.  
  
"Thanks, kid." I give his hair an affectionate ruffle as he drops the pile on the floor next to me. A nod of my head sends him scooting back down the stairs, where I don't doubt he'll be sitting, eagerly listening for any positive word. Or negative word.   
  
We've never lost anyone before, we've never had anybody stabbed before. None of us have ever lost a fight, we always come out on top. I am so afraid.  
  
With time, difficulty, and a lot of teamwork, Heero and I manage to get a few layers of cloth taped taut over his skin as a homemade bandage to pad the wound. The bleeding has already slowed quite a bit, and since the wound isn't very deep, I'm starting to have more confidence in Trowa's survival. As long as he can make it through tonight, I'm sure that with time, he'll be alright. Though, do I look like a fucking doctor? How do I know what's going to happen? Things like this make me realize that no matter how much responsibility I take, no matter how I try to help, no matter what I may do to make me seem older, I'm still just a kid. A kid trying to be a father to nine other kids. I can only hope with everything I have that Trowa is going to recover. Still, if he does, (and no, I'm not so optimistic that I'll say 'when' instead of 'if') this puts him out of commission and makes any of our traveling vulnerable. I hope the demolition of our house keeps getting delayed, because Trowa's not going to be able to be on the run anytime soon. Even if I can get him in traveling condition, what if we're attacked? What if Jul wants more, now that he's felt power? How could Trowa fight, or even protect himself? His pride will make him take a challenge on his own, without help, even in his current state.  
  
I reach for Heero's hand and place it on Trowa's side, pressing down over top of it. It's time these two get some privacy, If Tro… if he dies tonight, I'd have to face not only the grief of one of my best friends dying, but the guilt of allowing this to happen. I won't be responsible for keeping these two lovebirds apart, too. If only I hadn't let Trowa fight… this is completely my fault. I realize now how many 'if only's' and 'maybe's' there really are. At least Chang was, for some reason, compassionate enough to let us go easily. I don't think I'd have done the same. As a matter of fact, I know I wouldn't.   
  
I give Heero a reassuring glance, then squeeze the hand of a pain-dazed Trowa, who attempts to give me a weak smile before I descend the staircase, trying not to creak on the aged wood, towards the expectant, ever-starved faces waiting at the bottom.  
  
********** 


End file.
